


Who wants to live forever

by FirenzeSun



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fix-It of Sorts, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Apologizes, Hanahaki Disease, Heavy Angst, M/M, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Yennefer and Jaskier become friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:41:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22615795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FirenzeSun/pseuds/FirenzeSun
Summary: But Jaskier coughed.Yennefer tensed, the sour smell of magic hitting her nose. Fast, not giving Jaskier a chance, she took hold of the hand that he had used to cover his mouth. She lowered to look at it, and with a resigned sigh Jaskier opened his palm.Three, almost intact, petals lied in the middle of his hand."When?" Yennefer asked, tightening her hold on Jaskier's wrist."Since the dragon, of course."
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 23
Kudos: 1318





	Who wants to live forever

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, first let's get out the unpleasant thing out of the way. And I can't believe fandom is still at this, but don't like don't read. And definitely don't bookmark to an account you created solely for works you don't like with rude comments. Or at the very least have the decency of making it a private bookmark. Sadly, after contacting AO3 on this, as there's no block user function, their response was basically "deal with it". So please, stop taking for granted the free work we writers put out here.
> 
> Sorry to the rest of my readers, I hate putting this up here, but it's the only option AO3 left me. I do hope you enjoy this fic.

The sorceress trailed ahead of him visible on the distance, until she created a portal and disappeared without looking back. Jaskier hurried his steps now that no awkward encounter waited ahead of him. His feet begun to hurt no longer afterwards, the speed unfit for the angle of the slope. But the path downwards was longer with no shortcut, and Jaskier couldn't stop. Darkness fell, and the moonlight was barely enough. He knew that monsters hid in the night, but Jaskier couldn't stop. He had to go ahead, put as much distance and the man he would not think of.

He couldn't risk another confrontation.

But he didn't saw the stone in the road, and he fell. So Jaskier accepted defeat, and built a fire. It would only keep a few monsters away, it might attract others. But it was his safest choice.

After all, he was alone now.

He kept himself busy with a new song on his head until sleep claimed him. When he woke up, he tried out his song. It was about _them_ , only them. He didn't count on this, he never did. So he sang about them, the author removed.

He didn't linger long however, knowing there was only one path down the mountain.

When the path evened out, the ground straight, he stopped and breathed deeply. He looked back at the mountain not knowing what he was afraid of more. Seeing him again in the distance, judging and disdainful. Or to not see him at all, completely removed from his life.

There was no one.

A pain sharp as a knife lodged itself on Jaskier's chest. It was over. Sixteen years of his life, the best years of his mortal life, and it was over.

Geralt didn't want him.

His throat bobbled. A sob threatening to break through. But when he opened his mouth he coughed violently instead. Spit and something else landed on his hand.

When his breathing evened out, he looked at his hand. Two small pieces of yellow petals lied in it.

 _Oh,_ he thought.

He put the broken petals in his pocket, not point in leaving a trail, and turned around heading to the nearest village.

.

All artists, no matter the medium in which they express themselves, share one thing: they all familiarized themselves with heartbreak. Even the comedy inclined ones have to know of it, after all, their art must entertain even in the darkest of times. So when it comes to matters of the heart, they know every tale from every corner of the world.

Specially when it comes to love and tragedy.

So Jaskier knew what the petals he kept coughing meant. His time left on this Earth was counted.

Yet, it didn't change things much. So lute in hand he kept doing the one thing he was good at. He sang to forget. He kept singing even when he didn't.

He sang and swallowed the petals until he was alone and he could cough them out. Sometimes the petals came out wet with blood. Sometimes they got wet with tears.

.

She wasn't there with a specific purpose in mind. She had just arrived in this town, and sometimes she enjoyed the crowded space of a tavern. Mortals with their petty lives, breathing chaos into a room. But normal, not capital C, chaos. It could be comforting sometimes.

She then heard the music and almost turned around, but a little pulse of her magic told her _he_ wasn't there. The bard was alone.

Maybe she could get a different form of entertainment tonight, she thought picking a table that was far enough to not be immediately seen, but not completely hidden. She watched him perform with a mischievous glint in her eyes, waiting for him to see her.

For a second, when Jaskier finally noticed, Yennefer got the reaction she was expecting. His eyes were wide in shock, frozen in place. But the second passed and his shoulders dropped as he kept playing as if nothing had happened. She had expected fear, to laugh as he nervously hid his uneasiness around her. But instead, the bard looked resigned.

Curiosity picked at her.

Several songs later, after a round of applause and a not so modest rain of coin, Jaskier approached her with his instrument on one hand and a mug of ale in the other one. There was no hesitancy in his step, the bard had definitely changed.

"Of all the taverns," he said sitting in front of her with a sigh, "you came right to the one I was playing. I no longer believe in coincidence. So what is it? Have you been trying to find me or do we have to thank destiny for this belated encounter?"

There was none of the fear that would have usually tainted his voice when speaking directly to her. Yennefer felt tempted to just read the bard's mind, but there was something to be said about trying to figuring this out the old fashioned way.

"I had not expected to find you here. And I see our mutual friend isn't here to bind us. So I believe for once we can blame it on coincidence."

She had not missed the way Jaskier had grimaced when she mentioned Geralt before he could control his expression.

"Somehow, I still doubt that," Jaskier said before taking a sip of his ale.

It had been months since she had last since the bard, in that mountain where her heart had been broken in more ways than one. She knew the difference she saw in the man wasn't the effects of mortality. Though he looked at bit worse for wear, those bags under his eyes that spoke of restless nights, he didn't look particularly older. But after pondering on her thoughts, she noticed the silence.

He wasn't babbling anymore, not as he usually would have been, even with her. Instead, the words he had said were measured. The bard looked at her with a knowing look.

"Is there something in particular you wanted or you just want to reminisce old times?"

"You have matured," she said instead.

"You'd think the jokes at my age would stop holding weight after-" but the glare Yennefer sent him silenced him. He sighed instead. "There are certain things were growth is the only path forward. Well, growth or despair. But despite my flair for the dramatic and any other thing that might say otherwise, I've never been desperate."

It clicked on Yennefer like the final stone in a tower.

"He left you," and it wasn't a question. Not that Geralt hadn't left the bard many times. But there had always been the certainty that sooner or later, the witcher would appear again with his bard in tow. The Witcher and his bard. The bard and his Witcher. It had been like that for over a decade, it wasn't anymore.

"Technically, I left him. I was the one who walked away after he made absolutely clear how unwelcome I was," he corrected. "But yes, he left me."

Something stirred inside Yennefer at the forlorn breath the bard exhaled as he stirred the mug in his hands. It wasn't fondness, but it was recognition. She thought of the scars on her wrists and saw the scars on his soul that Jaskier was letting her see.

Jaskier smiled at her with the corner of his mouth, small and sad, and she knew he was seeing her scars too.

They asked for food and more ale, and ended up eating around tales of different courts. Mocking nobility and their barren traditions. They've found they have kindred mean spirits when it came to disdain.

It would have been a pleasant evening, ending the day on a note of unlikely friendships. But Jaskier coughed.

Yennefer tensed, the sour smell of magic hitting her nose. Fast, not giving Jaskier a chance, she took hold of the hand that he had used to cover his mouth. She lowered to look at it, and with a resigned sigh Jaskier opened his palm.

Three, almost intact, petals lied in the middle of his hand.

"When?" Yennefer asked, tightening her hold on Jaskier's wrist.

"Since the dragon, of course."

"Jaskier," Yennefer said, warning him.

He sighed instead. He had gotten good at sighs lately. "I was kind of expecting it would have been you. That you've blamed me too for linking you with Geralt, and decided to curse me."

"I'm gonna try not to take offense, because I know you're hurting."

"As if you weren't capable," Jaskier smiled.

"I am," Yennefer smiled back briefly. "Have you made an habit of pissing off mages?"

"Probably, but I wouldn't know who. You were my only lead."

"Even if we knew who did it, it wouldn't matter. There's only two cures for this disease."

Jaskier's heart warmed a bit when he heard her use we. He had forgotten how it felt like to not be alone.

"It's alright, I have time. There's not even much blood yet, only occasionally," and he truly wasn't faking for her sake. He truly didn't seem to care about the death sentence hanging on his lungs. "I might be able to still sing for a year or two."

"Do you truly not care about dying?" Yennefer asked confused before this strange mortal.

"I knew what I signed onto when I first begun to follow him. Whether by elf, monster or curse, I knew this was my most likely end. I accepted it then, I accept it now."

"It doesn't have to be this way."

"Yennefer," Jaskier smiled at her, it was his new brand of smile, the smile of someone who had lost hope. He grabbed her hand with his free hand to dislodge his other one and put the petals away. But he kept holding Yennefer's hand in his. "I am a bard, without my music, I have nothing to offer to this world. If I'm fine right now it's because I can still sing. I know the price of a cure. But he _is_ my music. I spent over two decades making him, my music and my feelings one thing. You strip that away from me, and Jaskier dies. And the life of Viscount Julian Pankratz was an empty one. No, I'll keep loving him and singing, and eventually my songs will survive me as it was always meant to be."

"Do you really think he's worth dying for?"

"You tell me."

"I don't have a choice, you do."

Jaskier gave her another sad smile. "And that's exactly why I won't. You were forced to love him. I won't be forced to stop. Ultimately, this is for me. I'm making my own choice."

"You are a stubborn one, aren't you little lark? I'll respect your wishes, but at least let me help you with the pain. There are potions to soothe your throat."

"What's gonna cost me?"

"Make me a nice song, little lark, and we'll be even."

.

He woke up the next day with several potion vials in his nightstand and a piece of paper with elegant handwriting with a formula in it.

Several months later, Cintra fell. It was only a few weeks afterwards that he heard about the battle of the mages in Sodden.

He coughed out full petals and felt incredibly lonely.

He kept singing.

.

It was a quiet night after a quiet day. There had been no monsters, and no news of Nilfgaardian soldiers for at least a week. Ciri was asleep, safe and sound next to the fire. So Yennefer approached Geralt.

"You can't stay."

"What?" Geralt asked confused.

"Once we reach Kaer Mohen in a few days, once they know I'm with you and her. You can't stay."

Geralt raised an eyebrow at the sorceress that wanted to keep him away from his own home.

"He's dying, Geralt. Your bard is dying."

Color drained from his face, his jaw set and the gold in his eyes turned into daggers. "What didn't you tell me?"

"I tried to find you, for a while, after I saw him. But you know what happened, and then we had to take care of her. I couldn't afford to have you distracted. But now we're close and he needs you."

Geralt was furious. If he lost his chance to say goodbye, if he lost his chance to apologize… But he understood her logic, and had learned better now than to blame his choices on others. "I'll leave as soon as we arrive."

Yennefer smiled at him softly. "He's in Novigrad, I put a tracking spell on his lute."

Geralt raised an eyebrow at her, but for once he was grateful of Yennefer's devious nature. It was the spell that let her know the bard was still alive, still in movement. Though the lute hadn't moved in over a week, she hoped it wasn't too late.

"We'll wait for you here," she told him.

When Vesemir received him, Geralt barely stopped to resupply and to kiss Ciri on the forehead with promises of returning, before leaving. He prayed to all the Gods that had forsaken him that it wasn't too late. That just this once, Destiny wasn't so cruel.

.

"We named it the Fishmonger for you, Master Jaskier!" Bettany had told him when he recognized him. "We love your ballads and we'll be honored to have you here!"

That had been four months ago.

Not three days in, he was having lunch in the bar and he entered a big coughing fit. He wasn't fast enough, and the petals that now came on chunks laid visible on the bar.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Bettany had said, and hurried to cover the petals with the drying cloth she had been using. She had lost a cousin this way, when she was young, and she knew that nobody wanted it made public that they were unloved. "You know, revenue has increased a lot since you've been staying, Master Jaskier. We'll be pleased to have you free of charge for as long as you want."

"Thank you," Jaskier said, knowing his traveling days were nearing an end.

He still performed every night, only a few songs, with big breaks in between. His lungs were running out of capacity. Yennefer's potions helped, his throat should have been sore and his voice ruined with how much he was coughing. But they weren't, and he drank his potion with a pang in his heart every time he remembered the rumors of the battle of Sodden. A local mage helped him to restock the potion with the formula the sorceress had left him. Jaskier hated going to him, but he needed it. He just couldn't stand the pity in his eyes.

Then, one day, as he was playing, he saw him enter. A wild look in his yellow eyes. He closed his eyes and cursed. He knew he wouldn't be able to get away on time. When he opened his eyes, he was looking straight into him. All of the witcher's focus directed solely at him.

He thanked his public with a few words and rushed upstairs to the room Bettany and her husband were lending him. Getting up the stairs was strenuous, particularly after a performance. He always ended up out of breath, and needed to recover for a few minutes before making the trip up the stairs. But this time he didn't have that luxury, he knew Geralt was trailing after him and he didn't want to do this with a public.

He barely made it to his room, before he fell to his knees trying to recover his breath. He heard the door opening again and Geralt exclaiming his name but he didn't turn around. Concentrated instead on getting back as much oxygen as he could.

"What do you have?" he asked with a worried voice, his hands going to his arms to hold him as he kneeled in front of him.

Jaskier closed his eyes. He needed to recover first before having this confrontation. He breathed in and out with the exercise he had learned from a young age as a musician.

When his breathing finally evened out, he said, "go away."

"I'm not going anywhere," Geralt replied stubborn as ever.

Jaskier opened his eyes, tired, sick and heartbroken. "If you ever cared for me, if our- if our _companionship_ ever meant anything to you, then leave now. Please."

"I won't leave you like this. Not when-" Geralt stopped unable to say the words out loud. "I won't leave you."

"Dammit, Geralt!" Jaskier cursed, dislodging himself from Geralt's grip and getting up. "Leave now before you make even more damage!"

Geralt didn't look up when he said quietly, "Yennefer told me."

"She didn't," Jaskier said with what was almost a cruel smile, knowing the sorceress had kept her promise. "She didn't tell you all or you wouldn't be here. Unless you wanted to get rid of me so badly you had to come to accelerate the process."

"What are you talking about?" Geralt asked with a pained expression. His shoulders sagged, this was a battle completely out of his terrain and the discomfort at not being capable was evident.

"Even if for once in your life you listen to me and leave this instant, you already worsened it just by coming. Unless your idea of mercy involves saving me from months of slow convalescence."

"Please tell me what's wrong," Geralt implored, still on his knees.

"You really want to know?" he said, and there was again that cinic smile, for he already felt the itchiness in his throat.

"Please," Geralt begged and on queue Jaskier began coughing, his entire body shaking with powerful spams. Geralt was fast on his feet, standing next to him and holding his body. His eyes then widened on horror when he saw the yellow petals escaping from between Jaskier's fingers.

"See?" Jaskier said, a small trail of blood on the corner of his mouth. "So please, leave now before you accelerate the whole process. I'll be lucky if I'm still able to sign after tonight."

"Is that truly what you're worried about," Geralt asked him, nothing but sorrow in his face.

"It's the only thing I have left. Well, there's always my lute, but it'll be torture not to be able to sign my own lyrics anymore."

"Jaskier," Geralt cried, lying his forehead against his. A tear fell on Jaskier's cheeks.

"So you do care a bit."

"Jaskier," Geralt repeated and moved his head backwards to look at him with the most pained expression the bard had ever seen on him. He took Jaskier's hands in his, and fell once again to his knees. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have said what I did, I shouldn't have pushed away. Nothing was further from the truth. Jaskier, I-"

"Please, don't say it," Jaskier said with tears of his own now on his cheek. "I appreciate you've come to apologize and set things right. I accept it and I forgive you, I forgave you a long time ago. But please, don't say it. Let's part like this, as friends, it's alright."

Geralt got up to his feet again, he put Jaskier's hands against his chest, holding them with just one, as the other one went to caress his cheek. "I have to say it."

"I don't want to hear it. Please, let this be my last wish, I don't want to hear you say it." Tears fell freely from his eyes, and Geralt cleaned them with a thumb.

"Jaskier, Julian," Geralt called him but Jaskier closed his eyes as a last futile defense. "I love you."

His lips were rough against his, but soon the salty water of their combined tears and the saliva softened the way. What had begun like a chaste kiss, deepened when his tongue connected. Two drowning men, drinking life from one another.

They broke apart to look at one another. Tender, fragile smiles adorned both their faces and for the space of one moment, everything seemed fine.

Then Jaskier begun coughing again. This time, what landed on his hand, was a full flower.

"Dammit, Geralt," he cried pushing him away. "I've told you, I begged you!" he shouted as once more tears fell copiously from his eyes.

"I don't get it," Geralt said heartbroken and in pain.

"What's there to get?! You don't love me, you great oaf. You must have confused pity and guilt with love in that stupid witcher brain of yours," he heaved, another flower stuck on his throat.

Geralt waited for Jaskier to spit it before saying, "I know how I feel. I love you, I have no doubt about that."

"Then how do you explain these?" Jaskier cried shoving the latest flower against Geralt's chest. "You don't love me, or I would be healed."

"No, it has to be something else," Geralt said firmly.

"Stop it, please, it's bad enough as it is," Jaskier sobbed. And his sobs transformed into another cough, and more flowers fell.

"No, no, no," Geralt said as he held Jaskier against him who was getting light headed. His breaths were incredibly short and it wasn't just because of the crying. Buttercups were filling his lungs, stealing his air away.

Jaskier's eyes widened, as he struggled to breath. Black spots appearing in his vision already. He didn't noticed how, but they were once again on the floor, Geralt's arms holding him. He was dying in the arms of the man he loved, and despite everything Jaskier was okay with leaving the world like this. Geralt was crying and there was some relief in knowing that after everything, he did care. Maybe not on the way Jaskier wanted or needed, but it was something.

"Jaskier, no, please, you can't leave me. I love you, I love you. Please, you can't leave me," Geralt sobbed, those beautiful golden eyes blurry with tears.

As he struggled with his last breaths, Jaskier realized he had never actually said the words. He would have liked to leave this world saying it at least once, but it was already too late.

His vision kept blackening out, as his lungs hopelessly tried to fill themselves with air. But it was a losing fight, and with one last breath, everything went black.

"Jaskier!" he heard Geralt distantly cry out for him, a cry of pure agony. The pain and despair in his witcher's voice pierced straight through him in his last moment of consciousness. Like a dagger, it pierced through his heart, passing through layers of hurt and disbelief.

He suddenly breathed deeply.

Another deep breath.

Oxygen flowing through his veins again.

He hadn't breathed like this in almost two years.

Above him, Geralt still cried out his name, mixed with sobs and laughs of the purest relief.

"You do love me," Jaskier said with a trembling voice, still astonished but no more unbelieving.

"Yes, I do, so much," Geralt cried out covering his face in kisses.

"Geralt," Jaskier laughed under the assault until the man stopped and looked at him with adoring eyes. "I love you."

More tears fell on Jaskier's face and then Geralt buried his head on Jaskier's neck. He sobbed as he hugged him. "I'm so sorry for making you doubt, for hurting you so much. I can't lose you, not again, never again."

"It's alright, we'll start again. Like a breath of fresh air."

Geralt laughed against Jaskier's neck. "Shut up."

"Never."

.

It was the last inn before Kaer Mohen, and Jaskier was singing his new song. His voice clear and sustained, deep breaths between verses. Geralt watched him with a small smile gracing his lips. Never again he would take for granted this beautiful man, this blessing.

The song was about lovers and flowers, Jaskier wanted to change the reputation of the disease. It wasn't a curse that affected unloved people as the general belief had it, but those who thought they didn't deserve love. How many broken souls had lost their lives because they couldn't believe they were worthy of love.

In the end, it was a song about hope.

A rain of coins signaled the end of the performance, the patrons moved to tears. Jaskier smiled, and went to the corner where Geralt was waiting for him.

"So, how was it?" he asked with a beaming smile.

"Beautiful," he said.

"You know, I'm not sure I'm used yet to this new Geralt of Rivia," Jaskier said blushing.

"I can go back to just grunting."

"No, I like it," he said with a soft smile. "Come," he told him, and took his hand to tug him to the room they had rented.

As soon as the doors were closed behind them, they were over one another. Kissing desperately as if this was merely their second time. Truth was, they had lost count of how many times they've kissed. But the heartbreak and ache of loss was still too fresh, and they were still too aware of how close they had been to losing one another forever.

They undressed each other fast, stumbling with their occasional piece of clothing that got stuck. They would have time for slow later, they'd be able to steal a few lazy days in the Winter of Kaer Mohen. But now, they needed to access fast to the touch of skin on skin. To press, to touch, to feel, to celebrate that they were here together, finally and after everything.

"Jaskier, Jaskier," Geralt breathed out between kisses.

"Yes, my Geralt? What do you want?" Jaskier said with a smile as he trailed Geralt's pectorals with a hand.

"You," Geralt breathed. "I want you. I want you inside me."

Jaskier kissed him hard before he pushed him back until Geralt fell on the bed. He rushed to their bags to retrieve the oil, and climbed over Geralt to kiss him away. He spread the oil in Geralt with practiced fingers, before oiling himself up.

He entered him with a hiss and a shudder. Jaskier loved seeing Geralt underneath him, his eyes closed in pleasure, his knuckles white from holding onto the headboard. Geralt was always bigger than life, but in these moments, Jaskier was allowed to take care of him, to pleasure him.

A moan ripped out of his throat as he heard the deep grunts Geralt emitted as Jaskier moved inside of him. The vevelty feel of him around his cock, the way his muscles tightened every time he hit that spot.

"Open your eyes, darling, please, I want to see you," Jaskier ordered sweetly.

Geralt groaned to complaint.

"Come on, don't you want to be a good boy for me?"

Geralt's cock twitched as the man whined, and after a second he opened his eyes.

Jaskier's eyes looked at him adoringly and full of love. This was why he wanted to keep his eyes closed, it was too much. Not only because he was a witcher, but specially after everything he had put Jaskier through, he felt undeserving of such love. But Jaskier wouldn't give him a choice anymore but to accept it.

"That's it, darling, you're doing so well. Keep looking at me."

Geralt felt himself getting closer. He was trapped, unable to look away from Jaskier's loving gaze, not even when the bard hit his prostate. Punching out deep groans from Geralt. Jaskier smiled at him, and took his cock in his hand and stroked it. Geralt screamed, closing his eyes on instinct as he threw his head back and closed his legs around Jaskier, driving him deeper.

"You look so fucking beautiful like this. You were made for taking my cock. This is all you should ever do, be in my bed as I take care of you," Jaskier talked and Geralt felt he was crumbling inside with each word.

"Fuck," he exclaimed.

"Are you close? Is that it, love?"

Geralt groaned in the way that Jaskier had learned to identify as yes.

"Then come, so I can come inside you."

Geralt took Jaskier by the neck and pushed him down for a powerful sloppy kiss, as he came between them. Jaskier came right afterwards, pushed to the edge by the tight fit of Geralt and the way he shuddered underneath him.

He then fell to a side, panting hard. Deep bone satisfaction settling on him.

It was Geralt who moved first, turning around, looming over Jaskier and bringing him for a soul deep kiss. "I love you," he said. He didn't say it often, or at least not as often as Geralt thought Jaskier deserved. But he made sure, that once they were alone, that Jaskier would hear it at least once each night. "So much," he added.

"I love you too, my Witcher," Jaskier replied with a soft smile resting on his lips.

Geralt hummed and kissed him again. As they burrowed under the furs, Jaskier thought about what awaited him. Ciri and Yennefer were expecting them at Kaer Mohen and he finally was going to meet the rest of the witchers. To think that just a few weeks ago he was expecting a lonely death, and now, now he had his Geralt and a family that awaited him.


End file.
